


the issue

by SaekoCrolla (Crollalanza)



Series: Sports Fest 2018 Haikyuu!! [18]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Captain Yahaba Shigeru, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 15:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/SaekoCrolla
Summary: “Captain,” Oikawa cooed to Yahaba. “Would you like me to ask Iwa-chan to help?”“No, it’s my issue,” Yahaba replied and pressed his palms together. “I can deal.”“Issue!  I’M the problem now!” Kyoutani yelled, striding across the gym.





	the issue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> "All of this silence and patience,  
> pinning and anticipation,  
> my hands are shaking from holding back from you"  
> — taylor swift

It had been a shitty practice, made worse by the appearance of the third years. After the last game, they’d not shown up to every session, recognising the compelling need for Seijou to rebuild. If they dropped by, it would be for the lunch session, Oikawa leading the fray and offering to toss, or to serve and help the first years with receives.

But that morning, just as Yahaba opened the door five minutes before seven, his four former teammates bowled up together.

“We can’t make lunchtime,” Oikawa explained, “as we have Guidance meetings.”

“This is okay, right?” Iwaizumi asked.

“We won’t get in the way,” Hanamaki assured him. “I just need a work out.”

“And you know me,” Matsukawa added. “I’m here for the ramen.”

“I am not buying ramen,” Oikawa insisted and pushing past them all he stomped to the changing room.

Already nervous because he’d wanted to try something new with his toss, Yahaba became ham-fisted, over-extending several times, and Kunimi who hated at the best of times, let alone this early hour, to chase for a ball became sludgy with his efforts, glowering under his curtained fringe.

Which drove Kyoutani mad.

“Hit the fucking ball!”  he yelled. “Jeez, chase for it, you jerk!”

“Rich coming from the guy who refuses to be decoy,” Kindaichi muttered.

“What was that?!” Kyoutani whiplashed to face him. “Got something to say?”

“Captain,” Oikawa cooed to Yahaba. “Would you like me to ask Iwa-chan to help?”

“No, it’s my issue,” Yahaba replied and pressed his palms together. “I can deal.”

“Issue!  _I’M_ the problem now!” Kyoutani yelled, striding across the gym.

“Cool it!” Iwaizumi stood between them, hands ready to push Kyoutani away.

 _And that should be my job._ Unclenching his fists, Yahaba took a side step and tried a smile. “That’s not what I meant, Kyoutani-kun.”

“Then what the fuck do you mean? Like, how about you explain it, right now!”

His face a snarl of fury, nose scrunched up and eyes almost disappearing under his brows, it was hard to see beyond the anger, but to stand any chance, Yahaba knew he had to stay cool. Respond with patience.

“It’s the dynamic,” he said clearly, including Kunimi in his glance around the gym. “We’re trying to gel as a team, and we’re not there yet. We’re attempting new things, and there’s always going to be period where that doesn’t come off.”

“It will if we work at it!”

“That’s the spirit, Kindaichi-chan,” Oikawa called. “Right, now I shall toss for Mad-Dog, and you can work with Kunimi-chan.”

“Maybe it’s not such a great idea us being here when the coaches aren’t,” Matsukawa said.

“No, no, I appreciate you dropping by,” Yahaba rushed to reassure. “And, yes, Oikawa-san, if you could work with Mad-Dog for a—”

“Fuck this!” Picking up a ball, Kyoutani stalked to the back of the court, tossed the ball high in the air and leapt.

His shirt gaped, running up his back, and the muscles in his arms rippled with intent. The serve was perfect landing right in the corner of the opposite side of the court, painting the line.

Breathtaking. Literally.

Yahaba gasped.

“That kid’ll never have to buy ramen,” Hanamaki said, grinning.

“Give us another!” Matsukawa cried.

But Kyoutani twisted on his heel and instead of picking up another ball stormed back to the changing room.

 _My issue,_ Yahaba thought, and stuck his arm out, stopping Iwaizumi in his tracks.

 He had to hold firm, persuade rather than insist Kyoutani returned for the rest of the session, for while the early mornings weren’t compulsory, Yahaba had wanted them to become a habit, a method of bonding without the coaches around to dictate every move. Oikawa had given them all a similar freedom, and it had certainly worked with Kunimi and Kindaichi leapfrogging over the second years to gain places on the first team.

“Mad-Dog,” he began.

“Do not fucking call me that,” spat Kyoutani. He pulled off his shirt, balling it in his hands before throwing into his bag.

“Is this you finished for the morning, then?” Yahaba asked, keeping his voice level. “Will we see you at lunchtime?”

“Guess so.” He trudged towards a a sink in the corner of the changing room, splashing water on his face and on his chest, the rudiments of a wash before scrubbing himself dry with his small sports’ towel.

“Why, though? Why are you walking out now? I thought you liked these sessions.”

“You.”

“Sorry… what?”

“So fucking reasonable! Just fucking yell when we fuck up, right!”  He began to get dressed, buttoning up his shirt, using a belt on the trousers, then looping his tie over his head, not yet pulling it tight, but leaving it trailing and uneven down his chest.

“You’d rather I yelled at you?”

“I had more respect when you called me out in the middle of our last match than I’d had in the two years we’ve known each other. Not such a fucking lightweight, I thought.”

“Shouting doesn’t work with everyone,” Yahaba countered. “Just as Oikawa-san’s persuasion never worked with you, and …” He paused, wondering for a moment what had worked with Kyoutani. Oiakwa had brought him back to the fold, but it had been Iwaizumi-san who’d kept him there.

“You like the challenge, don’t you. Pushing against boundaries.” He stepped closer, his hands itching by his sides as he remembered their confrontation how he’d felt such frustration and that had spilled into his slamming Kyoutani against the back wall to tear him off a strip.

But this time Kyoutani didn’t flinch. He stayed exactly where he’d planted his feet, even leaning forwards a touch, inviting Yahaba to take the first hit.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I like the challenge. So challenge me, Yahaba- _chan!_ ”


End file.
